


so quite new a thing

by Mireille



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: The "Steve Can't Know You're Into Him" protocol had stood Bucky in good stead for years, but he was having trouble following it these days.





	so quite new a thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soft_princess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_princess/gifts).



> The title comes from e. e. cummings' [i like my body when it is with your](https://allpoetry.com/i-like-my-body-when-it-is-with-your).

If Steve wasn't such a freak, this would have been less of a disaster. 

A _normal_ guy who had gone from shrimpy to buff in less than a year would have taken dozens of shirtless selfies and posted them all over Instagram. When he Skyped with his supposed best friend, he'd have worn something other than stupidly baggy t-shirts and sweats. He'd have found some way to make sure that said best friend knew that oh, by the way, did I mention that I got _incredibly fucking hot_ since last Christmas? 

But no, not Steve. Steve wouldn't have even thought about showing off his new look (and he definitely wouldn't have used the phrase “incredibly fucking hot”; Steve swore less than anyone Bucky knew, his eleven-year-old sister included). Steve wouldn't have bragged about all the women (and men, and the entire checklist of potential genders, because _look at him_ ) who were undoubtedly throwing themselves at his feet, because, well, Steve had a complete blind spot where women were concerned. Even in high school, when Bucky had set up double dates for them, Steve had just been quiet and awkward and very, very polite. Even when Bucky had set him up with a girl who had had a crush on Steve since the fifth grade and was pretty much begging him to jump her, she had remained unjumped. 

And so all Bucky had known was that Steve had managed to get on daily asthma meds through the university health center, instead of just the rescue inhaler that was all he and his mom had been able to afford, and that he was therefore filling out some and looking a lot healthier than he'd ever looked before, and that Steve had started--with his doctor's approval, even--running and going to the gym, which Bucky had figured would be good for him. 

It had been very, very good to--for--Steve. And maybe if Bucky had seen him since last Christmas, it wouldn't have come as such a surprise, but then he'd gotten that summer internship and a trip home on Greyhound for the two weeks of actual summer break he got just hadn't seemed worth it, so he hadn't come back until Christmas break had rolled around again. 

And there was Steve, sitting there in the coffee shop waiting for him, the first time Bucky had seen him in person in almost a year, looking like a Greek statue or something. Looking not just healthy--which would have been great--but buff. Wearing a tight t-shirt and running shorts, _in December_ , obviously just to torment the world. (Or because he'd been running. Bucky didn't feel like being reasonable.) And hot enough that Bucky wasn't going to stand a damn chance with any girl who caught sight of Steve, which threw a spoke in the wheels of Bucky's usual strategy of misdirection and denial. 

Hot enough that Bucky was going to have a serious problem. 

_Merry fucking Christmas,_ he thought, sliding into the chair across from Steve with a big fake grin plastered across his face. Steve really was his best friend, after all, and Bucky's problems were just that: Bucky's problems. 

“Bucky!” Steve's grin was just as big as Bucky's, and a lot less fake. “It's about time you came home.” 

“Hey, you could have gotten out of here too,” Bucky said, even though they both knew that Steve really couldn't. His mom needed him, and so Steve had gone to school close to home and Bucky had gone to Colorado. “But anyway, I'm here now. What have I missed?” _Apart from your transformation into a sex god._

While he listened with about two-thirds of his attention to Steve's updates on their former classmates and neighbors--at least the ones who'd stayed around home after graduation--the rest of his brain focused on unpacking a set of rules that he hadn't had to use since this time last year: the “Steve Can't Know You're Still Into Him” protocol. 

It had replaced the “Steve Can't Know You're Into Him, Period” protocol their junior year of high school, when Bucky had made a few desperate and pretty damn pathetic attempts to get Steve's attention and been politely shut down. Steve hadn't said anything. Hadn't been annoyed. Hadn't even avoided Bucky. 

No, Steve had just acted like none of it had ever happened, at all. Bucky hadn't done a whole lot of touching--Steve's arms, his hands, his shoulders, hell, even his _face_. Bucky hadn't said things like “You have incredible eyes” and “You know I don't really care about any of those girls, right? As far as I'm concerned, it's you and me.” 

Nope, as far as Steve gave any sign, none of that had even registered. Hell, he had been _so fucking obvious_ and Steve had just acted like it was nothing. 

Which was probably the best way he could have handled it, Bucky figured, because they were still friends, and once Bucky recovered from the crushing embarrassment, there wasn't even any awkwardness. And Bucky had moved forward--dating girls, finding dates for Steve, when he'd agree to go along. Then college, and sometimes Bucky dated guys, sometimes girls, but regardless, he never said anything to Steve about the fact that their weekly Skype call was the high point of Bucky's damn week. 

And then Steve, damn it, had to go and get objectively, indisputably hot, and Bucky realized that somewhere, in the back of his mind, he'd been thinking he might still have a chance, because not a lot of people took the time to figure out that Steve was the most amazing person they'd ever meet. 

Yeah, that wasn't remotely true these days. People were definitely going to take the time. And Bucky thought he could feel the hope that had sustained him since seventh grade--back when Steve was scrawny and wheezy and constantly getting in fights because he never saw a bully whose ass he didn't want to kick; back when Bucky had thought, for the first time, _I really wish I could kiss him_ \--evaporating with a little “pop!” sound effect, like his life was a fucking cartoon. 

All because Steve had gone and developed pornographic biceps. 

“Hey Steve, how's it going?” Speaking of pornographic biceps. And quadriceps. And muscles Bucky had never bothered to learn the names of. And the guy they belonged to was looking at Steve like he was an ice-cream cone in the middle of July, and all the guy wanted to do was start licking. 

Okay, maybe Bucky was projecting just a little bit, but he wasn't wrong. 

And if he had any doubts, the glare he got when Steve introduced Bucky to “Dave, from the gym,” would have convinced him. Bucky was definitely unwanted here. 

Steve, bless his clueless heart, didn't seem to have noticed. He kept looking over at Bucky and beaming with joy, all the way through the conversations with Dave, and with the three other guys who just happened to stop by their table while they were drinking their coffee. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that four different guys had just flirted with him. 

“Looks like you've been making friends,” Bucky said. 

“Yeah, everyone's been great. Nobody like you, of course, but who could--oh, hey, Sam.” 

Bucky bit back a groan. Not another one. 

This one--less muscle-bound than some of Steve's new friends, but still athletic-looking--pulled a chair up to the side of their table. “Hey, Steve. And you must be Bucky.” He grinned at Bucky without any hint of wishing Bucky would vanish into a hole in the earth. It was a definite improvement. “Steve talks about you a lot.” 

Steve ducked his head slightly with a dorky grin. “Not a lot, Sam.” 

“Nah, just all the time.” 

The name finally connected with Bucky. “Wait, you're Sam? He talks about you, too.” Not a _lot_ , but more than anybody else. “You guys run together, right?” 

“Right. Somebody has to keep him out of trouble.” Sam shook his head. “He tell you I had to save his ass from getting killed the first day I met him?” 

_Oh, jeez, Steve. Not again._ “Not that I remember. What did he do?” Like Bucky didn't know. Not the details, maybe, but he could guess the outlines. 

“Some neo-Nazi-wannabe fuckers were giving me shit in the locker room. This was... a year ago, maybe? Dude still looked like the runt of the litter, and he just wades in like he's going to kick everyone's ass. Threw a couple of decent punches, too, but he was outnumbered two to one and outweighed by about two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, so I kind of had to step in and save my hero's skinny butt.” Sam grinned at Steve, who was still ducking his head and looking at the table. The grin didn't look lustful at all, just kind of _fond_ , and Bucky decided that he liked this Sam guy a lot. Steve needed a friend like that, and Bucky needed to know that there was someone on earth who didn't want to get into Steve's pants. 

“I can keep myself out of trouble now,” Steve said. 

“I really doubt that, Stevie,” Bucky said. “I mean, your ass is going to get kicked less, but I bet you're still trying to punch assholes in the face every chance you get.” 

“I hate bullies,” he muttered, draining the dregs of his coffee. 

“We know,” Sam said. “We like that about you, but that doesn't mean we're not giving you shit about it.” 

Oh, yeah. Bucky really did like Sam. 

Three hours later, Bucky _still_ liked Sam, didn't even mind that Steve had suggested Sam hang out with them instead of letting Bucky have Steve all to himself. Hell, it might even be making things easier, because with Sam around, Bucky had a lot less trouble resisting the urge to break the Keep Steve Clueless protocol. 

And God, he needed the extra help, because Steve was at his touchy-feeliest. An arm slung around Bucky's shoulder while they watched the crap movie they had picked up from Redbox on the way back to Steve's place was bad enough. Leaning over Bucky--no, practically _lying in Bucky's lap_ (and Jesus, _face down_ , Steve, give a guy a little chance to save his dignity) to get to the bowl of popcorn was torture. Bucky couldn't avoid making a strangled noise that was half “get the hell off me” and half “yes, okay, fuck me right now” and luckily a hundred percent incoherent. 

“Hey, sorry,” Steve said, sitting up. “I keep forgetting I'm heavier than I used to be.” 

Bucky kept his eyes on the TV, but he could still feel the look that Sam was giving them. Shit. “Yeah, it's cool,” he said, grabbing the popcorn and setting it on his lap, purely to make it easier for all three of them to reach it. Not at all because a giant plastic bowl would keep Steve away from his dick. 

Okay, maybe a _lot_ because it would keep Steve out of his lap, but a man had the right to retain some of his self-respect. 

Again, though, Sam was there to keep things from being too weird and awkward, because he started talking very determinedly about the movie, and then afterward got into a long argument with Bucky about whose Netflix password they were going to put on Steve's laptop (Sam won, because “I'm probably going to be over here more than you are, man” was a valid argument), and once that was over, Bucky was pretty much feeling normal again. 

Still, it was kind of nice that, when Bucky was getting ready to leave--he'd promised his mom that he'd be home to have dinner with the family, since he'd just gotten back last night--Steve said, “So, are you free tomorrow? I have to work in the morning, but we could do something tomorrow afternoon. Catch up a little more. You know, just the two of us.” He glanced at Sam apologetically, but Sam just shrugged. 

“Hey, no problem,” he said. “I'm spending tomorrow at my grandma's anyway, so you two will just have to get along without me.” 

“Yeah, tomorrow's good,” Bucky said. That gave him like eighteen hours to work on regaining his ability to ignore this stupid crush, infatuation, _whatever_. He'd been doing it for years. He could do it again now; he was just out of practice.

****

After Bucky left, Steve and Sam ordered pizza; Steve's boss at the college library had given all the student workers gift cards to one of the local pizzerias for a Christmas present, so Steve didn't even have to calculate what was left in his budget before he could agree.

The conversation stayed pretty light while they cleaned up the spilled popcorn and Steve washed a sinkful of dishes for his mother while Sam checked his Twitter feed (then dried the dishes, because apparently Sam's mother had raised him the same way as Steve's, and sitting back while someone else worked wasn't really a thing they could do). But after the pizza arrived and they each were on their second piece, Sam said, “Hey, Steve, you're probably going to think this is none of my business, and it probably isn't, but I have to say something.” 

Steve frowned. “Okay? I mean, we're friends. If you have something to say, you can say it.” 

Sam popped open his can of soda and took a swig, then sighed. “Okay, then, I guess I should come right out with it. What the hell do you think you're doing to that poor guy?” 

“What poor guy?” 

“Who do you think? Bucky. I like the guy, by the way, he seems cool.”

“He _is_ cool,” Steve said, though that didn't really cover it. Steve had known he'd missed Bucky, but until today, he hadn't realized just _how much_ he'd missed him. Sam was great, and so were Steve's other new friends, but none of them were _Bucky_.

“So why are you jerking him around like this? If you're not into guys, or you're just not into _him_ , that's one thing--I mean, if you're not into him, you need to have a serious talk with your face about that goofy thing it does when you talk about him, but okay, it could happen. But you aren't being fair to him, and I really didn't think you'd be that kind of asshole to anybody.” Sam took a very decisive bite of his pizza then, almost like punctuation, and looked defiantly at Steve, obviously expecting an argument. 

Maybe he'd have gotten one, too, if Steve had any idea what he was talking about. “Sam, could we back up a minute? What am I supposed to be doing to Bucky?” 

Sam blinked a few times. “You really have no idea what I'm talking about.” 

“That's what I've been saying. Look, obviously you think I'm doing something wrong here, something that's going to hurt Bucky, so could you tell me what it is so I can stop?” For one thing, what did Sam mean, “if you're just not into him”? Steve understood the words, obviously, but how on earth could he _not_ be “into” Bucky? He loved Bucky. He was _in love with_ Bucky. He was trying to tamp it down, to set it aside and focus on what he could actually have, but so far, he wasn't having much luck. 

If Sam had been telling him something like, “Stop being so obvious around him,” or “This crush you have on your friend from high school is really creeping him out, I can tell,” that would make sense. But how on earth was Steve jerking Bucky around?

Sam set his drink down so that he had two hands free to bury his face in. “You are such an idiot.” After a few seconds, he looked up again, shaking his head. “So you have no idea that he's basically walking around with little hearts in his eyes like an anime character every time he looks at you?” 

Steve frowned. “He doesn't act any different around me than he ever did.” 

“You seem to think that's some kind of argument, but all I'm hearing is, 'Sam, my BFF Bucky has been in love with me since kindergarten or whenever.'” 

“You just seriously called him my BFF?” 

“You _talk_ about him like you're in middle school, so yeah, I did, and pay attention.” Sam put a hand on Steve's shoulder and looked very seriously into his eyes. “Dude has got it bad, and you're going around halfway ignoring it, halfway crawling into his lap. So unless what you want is to make him miserable, keep going the way you're going. If you don't, either ignore it completely, _all the time_ , without any lap-crawling or cuddling or looking at him like he's the hottest thing on earth, or--and I'm not going to lie, this is probably the smart solution-- _fucking do something about it._ ” 

Steve's face felt like it was on fire, but he made himself not look away. He hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. Not on purpose, anyway, and he'd do what he could to fix the rest. If he figured out what that was. “What am I supposed to do about it?” 

Sam groaned. “I am not your sex ed class, Rogers,” he muttered. “I don't think he's going to care what you do. Write him a damn note that says 'I like you. Do you like me? Check yes or no.' Jump his bones. Show up outside his house with a vintage tape deck playing Peter Gabriel. It's not going to matter. Just do it when I'm nowhere around, _please_ , because I still don't have a date for New Year's Eve and right now I'm allergic to PDA.” 

Steve sighed. It wasn't that simple. He wasn't even sure Sam was right about how Bucky felt. He knew Bucky loved him, but there was a big difference between loving somebody and being in love with him. And it wasn't like Bucky could think Steve was good-looking. He'd known Steve forever. He was never going to forget what Steve had looked like in high school. He'd never want Steve to touch him, even if Steve had had a clue how to. 

But he didn't want to get into that with Sam, so he shrugged and said, “I'll think about it,” and took another piece of pizza. 

It wasn't like he was going to be able to _stop_ thinking about it. He could kind of see Sam's point-- _if_ he was right about Bucky. Steve didn't even know for sure whether Bucky was bisexual. He thought so, but Bucky didn't really talk about the people he went out with in Colorado, and Bucky had been very, very into girls in high school. 

But assuming that Bucky _was_ attracted to men at least some of the time, and assuming that one of the men Bucky was attracted to was Steve... Steve still didn't know what on earth he was going to do about it. It wasn't like he'd ever been in this situation before. It wasn't ever like he'd _wanted_ to be in this situation with anyone but Bucky. 

That was too much to try to explain to Sam, and way more than Sam needed or wanted to know about how much of a weirdo his good buddy Steve was, so Steve just shrugged. “I'll figure something out,” he said. “And Sam? Thanks. I'm still not sure you're right about Bucky, but I'll be... more careful, I guess. Just in case.” 

“Any time you need someone to tell you to get your head out of your ass, I'm there,” Sam said. “What are friends for?” 

And then, thankfully, he dropped the subject. 

After Sam had gone, Steve went into his room and locked the door. It wouldn't keep out a determined squirrel, but his mom respected locks, so it'd give him some privacy if she got home early. 

He shucked off his jeans and his t-shirt, lying down on the bed in only his boxers and closing his eyes. Crap, this felt awkward for some reason. He didn't know why, exactly; it wasn't like he hadn't done this before. Pretty regularly, actually; he was pretty sure that it was his _brain_ that was weird about sex, not his body. 

He fumbled for the lotion in his nightstand and squirted some on his hand, then reached into his boxers and wrapped his fingers around his cock. After a few strokes, he could feel himself starting to get hard, so yes, everything was definitely working. 

It felt good, even. It always did. It was just when he tried to do something other than just jerk off without thinking about anything much that things stopped working. Sometimes he could watch porn, but usually he preferred to just think about what he was doing. He definitely couldn't think about anyone in particular. 

He'd heard guys talking about using posters of bikini-clad women, or mental images of hot girls from their classes--or, presumably, hot guys from their classes--as inspiration, but any time Steve tried that, and especially any time he tried picturing actually having sex with anyone else, he went soft and just wound up feeling disappointed and kind of embarrassed. 

Well, no. Not _any time_. He'd figured that out his senior year of high school, when, even though he felt like the world's worst friend--and maybe the world's biggest freak--he'd given in to the thoughts of Bucky that always tried to creep into his mind at times like these. He hadn't lost the mood _then_. Far from it; it had been the first time when getting himself off hadn't just felt like--well, to be cliched, like scratching an itch: satisfying, but nothing earth-shattering. Touching himself while imagining that it was Bucky touching him, on the other hand, had definitely been a lot more than just "satisfying."

He'd tried not to do it too often, because he felt kind of like a giant creep using Bucky like that, but sometimes, Steve couldn't resist. Sometimes, like now, when Bucky had looked so gorgeous and had smelled so good and Steve had missed him _so much_. Heck, when he'd leaned over too far and wound up on Bucky's lap, Steve had caught himself wondering what it would be like to just turn his head a little and nuzzle into Bucky, to see if he could make Bucky feel as good in real life as the Bucky in his imagination always did for Steve. 

He needed to think about Bucky--about real Bucky, and about what Sam had said about him--but right now, he was getting harder from the thought of having been that close to Bucky's cock, from the pictures his imagination was giving him: an afternoon when they were the only two in the apartment, and so when Steve found himself with his head on Bucky's thighs, he could whisper, "Hey, Bucky, can I--?" and tug at Bucky's zipper. 

In his imagination, unlike what Steve was sure was reality, Bucky wanted him just as much, so he'd look down at Steve with that perfect smile he seemed to save for Steve alone, and say, "God, yeah, Steve, _please_ ," and Steve would love him so much in that moment that he'd feel like he was going to explode from it. 

Not even in his imagination could Steve convince himself that he'd have porn-star skills, but in his head, at least, Bucky wouldn't mind, because Steve would be trying so hard, licking and nuzzling at Bucky, feeling him harden against Steve's tongue. 

Steve turned his head a little, so that he could see the sketchpad lying on his nightstand. Not the ones he used for his school projects, but the one he never took out of this room, the one where every drawing was of Bucky. It was open, the most recent drawing visible, and Steve focused on the penciled lines of Bucky's face, imagining that he was looking into bright blue eyes as he stroked himself frantically. He wondered what Bucky's face would look like when Steve was sucking him, whether he would close his eyes when Steve made him come. 

That image sent him over the edge; he clenched his jaw to keep quiet, knowing how well sound traveled through the thin wall between his room and the next apartment, but in his head, he was calling out Bucky's name as he came, murmuring it again as he collapsed, sweaty and drained, against his pillow. 

Sam was right, Steve decided. For his own sanity, he was going to have to say something to Bucky, no matter how badly it went.

****

Normal, Bucky reminded himself. He could do normal. Except for that one really stupid week, he'd been doing normal around Steve forever. He could keep it up for a little while longer.

So here he was, on his normal way to the normal library where Steve worked and where Bucky was supposed to be meeting him so that they could do normal friend stuff just like normal friends where one of them wasn't normally thinking about how much he liked the other one's hands. And eyes. And mouth. And damn, this had been hard enough _before._ ( _Do not think the word “hard” again for the rest of the day, Bucky. Just don't._ ) 

His bout of self-pity was interrupted by the sight of Steve waiting on the library steps. When he caught sight of Bucky, he put his hand up in a half-wave and started down the steps, but he also set his jaw in a grim and determined line that did not, in Bucky's experience, spell good times ahead. 

“What's up?” he asked as Steve reached him, falling in step with him because Steve was apparently not stopping. 

“Are you okay with going back to my place?” Steve asked. “We can go somewhere else later, if you still want to. There's something I have to do first.” 

Bucky realized it wasn't as easy to keep up with Steve as it used to be--not difficult, but he didn't have to make sure not to leave him behind any more. Apart from the initial shock, he still kept imagining him as the same old Steve Bucky remembered. 

This wasn't the same old Steve, and Bucky now officially had less than no chance with him, so the faster Bucky got things back to normal, whatever the fuck that was--tough to remember, when his default state had been “being quietly in love with Steve Rogers” for so long--the better this would be for their friendship. “Something wrong?” he asked. 

“Kind of,” Steve said. “But not really _wrong_ wrong. I mean, nobody's going to die or anything.”

“Good to know.” 

Steve didn't answer, so Bucky just walked alongside him in silence (and stood next to him on the bus in silence, and then walked in silence again, getting more and more worried about Steve the whole time) until they got back to Steve's apartment. 

“Oh,” Bucky remembered as Steve tossed his mother's mail on the table, “I was supposed to let you know. My mom wants to be sure your mom knows you guys are invited over for Christmas Eve, same as always.” 

“Yeah, okay, I'll tell her.” He fiddled around with the mail a little longer, picking out a couple of envelopes and tearing them in half, then taking them into the kitchen to dump them in the recycling bin. 

Whatever Steve had to take care of, he sure wasn't in any hurry to do it. “So, do you need any help with whatever it is?” Bucky asked as Steve came back into the living room. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Could you--could you just sit down? And maybe listen? Without talking, I mean. I don't think I can do this if you talk.” 

That could not be good. That could not _possibly_ be good. That felt like the start of a conversation that ended with, “In conclusion, Bucky, you're creeping me out and I think we should never see each other again.” 

On the other hand, there was a decent chance that Bucky was overreacting here. It still couldn't be anything good, not with how stressed-out Steve was, but it might not be _that_ bad. He made himself sit down--in Steve's mom's chair, not on the couch, because he felt like he needed some physical distance from whatever this was going to be--tried for a calm, interested pose (hands resting on his knees, leaning back a little, remembering to keep breathing), and said, “Yeah, I can do that.” 

Steve sat down too, on the couch, angling himself so that he was looking just past Bucky's ear. “So. I talked to Sam last night, after you left. Or, really, he talked to me, and he said...” Steve broke off, took a deep breath, and shook his head. “He said I'm not being fair to you, Bucky, and I really have no idea if he's right. Is he?” 

Bucky's first instinct was to say _No, of course he's not right,_ but he wasn't sure that was the truth or not. “I don't know. Depends on what he was talking about.” 

Steve's voice was hardly audible, even in the quiet room. “Am I jerking you around? Leading you on, I guess. I told Sam there was no way I could be, but--” He shrugged. “Am I?” 

He sighed. “Yeah, Stevie, you kinda are. It's okay, though; I know you're not doing it on purpose. You never have been.” 

Steve winced. “I don't even know how I'm doing it at all. I mean, Sam thinks you're _in love with me_ \--” His voice was getting louder, kind of panicky-sounding, and Bucky's heart sank even further. 

“Sam's not wrong,” he said, “but I swear, it's not--I'm never going to bother you with it, Steve. I promise, I can be cool. I don't want to make things weird.” 

And now Steve finally looked straight at Bucky, and Bucky's fingers clutched at his knees so hard that his knuckles hurt, because Steve looked pale and almost _sick_. 

Jesus. Steve hadn't been pretending not to have noticed how Bucky felt. Steve _really hadn't noticed_ , even back in high school when Bucky had done everything but tattoo “I <3 Steve Rogers” on his face, and now that he'd found out--

“I'm sorry,” Steve said. 

“You don't have to apologize. You feel what you feel. Or don't, in this case.” It was going to hurt like fuck, but that wasn't Steve's fault. 

“I feel _like crap_ , though. I had no idea.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don't know how you could have missed it. I was not exactly the king of subtlety back in high school.” 

“You acted the same as you always did!” 

Okay, even as shitty as this day was turning out to be, Bucky had to laugh at that. “Yeah, well, I was in love with you the same as I always was.” He looked away from Steve then, not wanting to see that sick look on his face again. 

The silence felt almost suffocating, but Bucky couldn't say anything else, not before he heard how Steve reacted. At least then he'd know whether they could salvage their friendship at all. 

“I wish I'd known,” Steve said at last. 

“I did try to tell you,” he pointed out. 

“Yeah, but if I'd realized it, this would all be less awkward.” He paused. “Or at least, the awkward parts would have been over two or three years ago. Instead, I'm trying to figure out what to say next.” 

“I can't tell you that.” He knew what he _wanted_ Steve to say. He knew what his more realistic side _hoped_ Steve would say. But he had no idea what Steve should say, because even though he'd calmed down a lot in the past couple of minutes, Bucky couldn't forget the look on Steve's face a minute ago. He'd looked like he wanted to vomit. And if that was how Steve really felt, then not only was their friendship over, but Bucky had never really known him in the first place. 

Steve got up then. “Just, stay here until I get back? Please?” He didn't wait for Bucky's answer, just disappeared through the archway into the kitchen, then down the hall that led to the rest of the apartment. 

He hadn't really had to ask; Bucky wasn't going anywhere. He was going to make Steve tell him to get out of his life; he didn't feel like making it easy on him. Not if Bucky had been so wrong about him for all these years. 

But Steve came back within a minute or so, carrying... a sketchbook. The one Bucky had bought him for Christmas five or six years ago, that had a label on the cover proclaiming it the World's Largest Sketchbook. He'd apologized for it not being very portable, but Steve had said he didn't mind. “I know just what to do with it,” he'd said. 

Unless Steve had decided that “hit your former best friend over the head with it” was a good use, Bucky had no idea what the hell he wanted it for now. 

“I'm not doing great at explaining myself,” Steve said, shoving the book into Bucky's hands. “So just look at this. Maybe it'll help.” 

Bucky opened the sketchbook. The first page was a sketch of him, back in high school. Not surprising. Steve drew everything and everyone, all the time. 

“Keep going.” 

He turned the page. Another picture of him, scowling down at an open textbook. Again, no shock. They spent enough time together that Steve drew him a lot. 

Well, he wasn't going through the entire book page by page, so he started flipping through at random. A few pages on: another picture of him, this one on his couch at home, game controller in hand. Somewhere toward the end: him, framed by Steve's phone screen, his dorm room in the background--one of their Skype chats. Back to the middle: him, the summer after graduation, shirtless and barefoot on the steps of Steve's building. 

A few more page flips, and Bucky hadn't found a single picture of anything that wasn't him. The book wasn't _full_ \--it really was a big sketchbook--but it was well on the way.

“Like I said,” Steve said, licking his lips nervously, “I really wish I'd known how you felt before now.” 

That put everything, literally everything, in a new light. “How long?” 

“No idea,” Steve said. “And I mean it. I literally have no idea. I don't think I feel any differently about you than I always have. I just took a long time to figure out what it _was._.” 

“Are you sure? I mean, are you sure this is--” He sighed, remembering how oblivious Steve had been to the girls who had liked him. Hell, how oblivious he'd been to _Bucky._ “I know you love me, Steve, but are you sure it's _that_ way?” 

He had no idea why Steve burst out laughing, but Bucky found himself laughing too. If Steve could laugh like that, things were going to be okay. 

He flipped through the sketchbook again, watching himself age in the drawings from a gawky kid to the present day. Some people took ten billion pictures with their phone. Steve did some of that, but mostly, Steve drew pictures, especially of stuff that was important to him. That was one of the things Bucky loved about him. 

And Steve had drawn him, over and over again, an entire sketchbook, one Bucky had never seen after giving it to Steve, just for pictures of him. Maybe he hadn't needed to ask that question after all.

When Steve finally stopped laughing, he just shook his head. “Yeah, Bucky. I'm sure it's 'that way.' You're the only person I've ever felt 'that way' about, so... yeah. I'm pretty sure.” 

Bucky set the sketchbook down on the coffee table. “You know, from the way those guys were drooling over you in the coffee shop, you could have been dating any of them you wanted to. You don't _have_ to choose me.” 

Steve sighed. “Could you come over here? It feels weird for you not to be on the couch.” It felt weird to Bucky, too, so he got up and moved to his usual spot next to Steve. Steve actually moved a little closer to him, closer enough that Bucky could feel the heat of Steve's thigh against his, and the last knots of fear in Bucky's stomach dissolved.

“I didn't want to date any of them,” Steve said, once Bucky was settled next to him. “I don't--I'm not like you. Those girls you set me up with in high school? They were pretty and mostly nice, but I wasn't _interested._ Just like I'm not interested in the guys from the gym.” 

“But you're interested in me?” 

“Yeah. But I know you. I _love_ you. I think maybe that's the difference? I already loved you before I, um. Ever thought about you as somebody I want to... as somebody I want.” Somehow, it didn't surprise Bucky that Steve was blushing. He'd never thought of Steve as a prude, exactly, just that Steve didn't like talking about things he thought of as personal. You couldn't get a lot more personal than this. “I don't think I really can want somebody if I don't love them. Or at least, like them a lot. At least, you're the only one, ever.” 

“Okay, you're right, that's definitely different than me.” Not that Bucky had all that much sex, but he could definitely _want to_ with people he didn't love, or even like. Or even know, for that matter. “Not bad,” he added quickly. 

“I know. But maybe that's why it kind of blindsided me.” He grinned. “I mean, I have no excuse for not noticing that you were declaring your everlasting love for me, but I just didn't really think about that as a possibility. Like you said, you didn't act all _that_ different, and you were really into girls in high school....” 

“I was really into you not realizing I was in love with you, most of the time, and I thought that would help.” 

“It worked.” 

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, I guess it did. Hooray for me.” They were quiet for a moment, though at least now it felt comfortable again, not awkward, and then he said, “Hey, Steve? I really want to kiss you now. You think you'd be okay with that?” 

That got him one of Steve's best smiles, the ones that always made Bucky feel, at least for a few seconds, that nothing could possibly be wrong in the world. “Yeah,” Steve said. “I think I'd be okay with that.” 

In one sense, it wasn't the best kiss, even the best first kiss, Bucky had ever had. It took them a couple of tries to get the right angle, and then there were a few seconds when he was afraid Steve wasn't going to kiss him back, after all. Then Steve did, and their teeth clashed together--angles again--and when Bucky tried to reach up and pull Steve closer, he accidentally wound up smacking him on the ear instead. 

Bucky had to fight _hard_ not to just start laughing again at that point, and he wasn't sure he was winning the battle. But it was fine, it was _more than_ fine, because at least this way he was a hundred percent sure that it was real. He'd never imagined their first kiss going this way. He was always a lot smoother. 

But Steve was laughing now too, his forehead resting against Bucky's as they both just cracked up at themselves and at how completely unsexy they had just managed to be. And so, in a very real and definite sense, this might have been the most awesome kiss of Bucky's life so far. 

Steve was still right there, though, cheeks pink from laughter, and it was so easy to kiss him again. This time, they weren't overthinking it, and it was easy to find Steve's mouth, easy to coax Steve to open up for him, to kiss him long and sweet and slow and without anybody getting smacked in the head. Steve made little noises, happy little humming sounds made into Bucky's mouth, and Bucky felt like he could do this forever. Just spend the next fifty or sixty years, minimum, getting to know Steve Rogers' mouth. Then he'd need at least another dozen lifetimes just to get to know the rest of him. 

He might not have been alone in that, either, because Steve's hand slipped under his t-shirt, moving hesitantly across his back. 

“This okay?” Steve asked, still close enough that Bucky could feel the movement of Steve's lips against his skin. 

“Very okay. Consider yourself encouraged to touch all you want.” As for himself, Bucky had decided that since he didn't have all those lifetimes to explore Steve's mouth, he should move along to kissing his jaw and down to his neck. Steve shivered, or maybe shuddered; Bucky made himself pull away. “What about you? You all right with this?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” Steve gasped, tipping his head back so that Bucky could kiss his throat. “Just... no marks, okay? That's not how I want to tell Ma about us.” 

“Fair enough,” Bucky said, grinning. It wasn't the way he wanted his family to find out, either. Though he had to admit that it wasn't like any of them were going to be _surprised_ , exactly. But “no marks” left him a pretty wide field of exploration, and he planned to take full advantage of it.

“You know I've never, um. Done anything before. I mean, I kissed a couple of girls, back when you were setting me up on dates. But other than that, I haven't--well, not with other people.”

“I figured. It's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I mean, kissing on the couch is working pretty good.” Not that he'd complain about it if Steve wanted to take things further, but he'd been waiting years for this. He could be patient. 

“Let's just see how things go,” Steve said, kissing him again. His hands went under Bucky's shirt again, this time sliding across his stomach. 

Bucky laughed and squirmed away. “Damn it, you know I'm ticklish.” 

“Are you? I must have forgotten.” Steve trailed his fingers down Bucky's side, and this time, when Bucky pulled back--abruptly enough that he more or less fell over--he pulled Steve down with him. 

For the second time, he found himself laughing as he looked into Steve's eyes from a much closer distance than he had before today. This time, though, he was sprawled on his back on the couch, with Steve half on top of him, which was... good. At least, he wasn't complaining, and Steve had gone right back to kissing him, so he was going to assume Steve wasn't either. 

In fact, the only downside--and it wasn't much of one--was that being trapped on the couch under Steve was having a predictable effect, and Bucky was having to resist the urge to grind against the thigh that was pressing against his cock. He was doing pretty good at resisting, too, he thought, but then Steve shifted his weight, and Bucky heard himself making a truly embarrassing whining sound at the brief moment of increased friction. 

Steve looked down at him in surprise for a moment, then grinned. “Oh, I see,” he said, and moved again, just _so_ , so that his thigh pressed hard against Bucky's erection. 

Bucky reached up and pulled him down for another kiss, this one hot and hungry. Steve's cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and glassy, and knowing that was for _him_ was possibly the biggest turn-on of Bucky's entire life. “We can stop,” he offered, hoping it wasn't obvious how much he _didn't_ want to stop. 

“We are _not_ stopping,” Steve growled, reaching between them to stroke Bucky through his jeans. “I mean, not unless you want to,” he added. 

“Fuck, no,” Bucky gasped, pushing Steve's hand away so that he could undo his pants, then reached for the waistband of Steve's jeans. “Can I--” 

“Yes. _Please_.” 

There wasn't getting much clearer than that, so he got Steve's jeans open, then freed Steve's cock from the confines of his shorts. And of course Steve's cock was perfect, at least by Bucky's standards (though to be honest, “attached to Steve” was enough to make things perfect by his standards)--thick and flushed and already leaking a little at the tip. Bucky's mouth literally watered as he imagined having Steve in his mouth, but that could wait. There would be other times. If he had his way, there would be a lifetime of other times. 

Steve's face turned brighter red at Bucky's obvious appreciation, but before Bucky could ask him if he was okay, he'd reached into Bucky's jeans and curled his fingers around Bucky's own erection, stroking it hesitantly, then more confidently as Bucky groaned. 

“C'mere,” Bucky murmured, his hands on Steve's hips, guiding him into position so he could thrust against Steve, grinning as Steve quickly found the rhythm to match his thrust. Steve made the little humming sounds now, too, and for some reason, that just made a stupid warm happy feeling bubble up in Bucky's chest. Trust Steve to make dumb noises during sex. Trust him to like that about Steve. 

Trust them both to be completely goofy about each other, now that they'd finally figured things out between them. 

Through it all, he couldn't stop kissing Steve, couldn't stop _grinning_ when Steve started taking control of the kisses, claiming Bucky's mouth, making it obvious yet again that Steve wasn't just going along with this to make him happy. Steve wanted this, wanted him, too. 

“Jesus, Steve,” he gasped as Steve changed angles slightly and set off white sparks behind Bucky's eyes. “No, don't stop, please don't--” and then Steve's mouth closed over his again, swallowing his cries--Steve's name, over and over again--while Bucky arched against him as he came. 

He took a few seconds to catch his breath, then reached for Steve again, wrapping his hand around Steve's cock and starting to stroke him. “You look so hot like this,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. “I can't wait to see what you look like when you come.” 

If Steve turned any redder, he was going to spontaneously combust, but he mumbled, “Jeez, you're going to kill me if you keep talking like that,” which Bucky took as encouragement. 

“You like that, huh? That's going to be fun.” Especially since in a few weeks, he'd be going back to school. Steve liking it when he talked dirty was going to make their Skype sessions a lot more interesting. “Maybe I should tell you how much I want to go down on my knees for you? Think about it--your cock in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat because I'm taking you in so deep...” 

“God, I'm going to--” He wasn't sure if Steve broke off because of embarrassment or just because he temporarily forgot how to form words. 

“Yeah, that's right, come for me,” he urged, his hand moving faster on Steve's dick until Steve shuddered and came, hot and wet on Bucky's hand. 

Steve collapsed--partly onto the couch, partly onto Bucky--pressing lazy kisses onto Bucky's neck and shoulder. Bucky put his arm, the one that wasn't pinned under Steve's weight--around Steve, just listening to their breathing. 

After a few minutes, Steve got up, coming back with a couple of washcloths for them to clean themselves up with. Or to clean each other up with, which was Bucky's far superior idea; even though it didn't go much of anywhere, it gave him more of an excuse to touch Steve. 

And then, when they were back to being fully-dressed and as normal-looking as he figured they were ever going to get, they settled back on the couch, and Steve decided to lie down with his head on Bucky's lap as they talked, mostly about nothing important. 

In its own way, Bucky decided, that was every bit as awesome as the sex.

****

“So,” Steve said finally, turning over onto his back so he could look up at Bucky, “we _are_ going to keep being... this... when you go back to school, right?” He knew the answer. Well, he was ninety-nine percent sure of the answer, anyway, but for some reason, he needed to hear it.

“Hell, yes,” Bucky said. “Though I'm not sure that once-a-week Skyping is going to be enough now.” 

It hadn't been enough before, so Steve had no problem agreeing to that. “Are you coming home next summer?” It wouldn't change anything, but it had been hard not seeing Bucky for a year; it'd be miserable now. 

“I already was. I'll get a job here over the summer. And, well. I know I still have a couple of years left before graduation, but you know I was always planning on coming back, right?” 

No. He hadn't. Bucky had been so determined to go away to college that Steve hadn't been entirely sure that Bucky _ever_ wanted to come back home. He'd thought so. He'd hoped so. But he'd never been sure. 

He didn't say that, but he must have given it away somehow, because Bucky's hand stilled its movement in Steve's hair. “I'm coming back,” he said. “We'll manage with Christmas and summers and lots and lots of video chats--including some obscene ones--and then I'll graduate and come back here.”

“And then?”

“And then we live happily ever fucking after, what do you think?” 

He thought it sounded pretty good, to be honest. “You know I'm going to kiss you under the mistletoe when Ma and I come to your place Christmas Eve.” 

Bucky laughed. “You know I'm going to cover every inch of the ceiling in it. If you're trying to scare me off, you'll have to try harder.” 

“Happily ever after?” 

“Damn right,” Bucky agreed, so firmly that Steve had absolutely no trouble believing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my wife soft_princess for the idea for this one. One day, I'll post a fic that isn't dedicated to her, but she's been nudging and encouraging and inspiring a lot lately, and I appreciate it.


End file.
